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The
Widow's Tears |
by
George Chapman |
1612 |
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THE ACTORS. |
Tharsalio, the wooer. |
Lysander, his brother. |
Cynthia, wife to Lysander.
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Ero, waiting-woman to Cynthia. |
Hylus, son to Lysander, nephew to Tharsalio. |
Eudora, the widow countess. |
Sthenia, gentlewoman
attending on Eudora. |
Ianthe, gentlewoman attending on Eudora. |
Clinias, a servant to Eudora. |
Lycus, a servant to Eudora. |
Argus, gentleman usher to Eudora |
Laodice, daughter to Eudora. |
Rebus, a suitor to Eudora. |
Hiarbas, Friend to Rebus. |
Psorabeus, Friend to
Rebus. |
The Governor of Cyprus |
Captain of the Watch |
Two Soldiers |
Arsace, a pandress. |
Thomasin, a courtesan |
The Scene: |
Paphos, on the Island
of Cyprus. |
ACT I. |
SCENE I. |
A Room in the House of
Lysander. |
Enter Tharsalio solus, with a glass in his hand, |
making ready. |
Thar. Thou
blind imperfect goddess, that delights |
(Like a deep-reaching
statesman) to converse |
Only with fools,
jealous of knowing spirits, |
For fear their
piercing judgments might discover |
Thy inward weakness
and despise thy power, |
Contemn thee for a
goddess; thou that lad'st |
Th' unworthy ass with
gold, while worth and merit |
Serve thee for nought,
weak Fortune, I renounce |
Thy vain dependance,
and convert my duty |
And sacrifices of my
sweetest thoughts |
To a more noble deity,
sole friend to worth, |
And patroness of all
good spirits, Confidence; |
She be my guide, and
hers the praise of these |
My worthy
undertakings. |
Enter Lysander with a glass in his hand, |
Cynthia, Hylus, Ero. |
Lys. Morrow, brother! Not ready yet? |
Thar. No; I
have somewhat of the brother in me. |
I dare say your wife
is many times ready, and you |
not up − Save
you, sister; how are you enamoured |
of my presence? How
like you my aspect? |
Cyn. Faith,
no worse than I did last week; the weather |
has nothing changed
the grain of your complexion. |
Thar. A firm
proof 'tis in grain, and so are not all |
complexions. A good
soldier's face, sister! |
Cyn. Made
to be worn under a beaver. |
Thar. Ay,
and 'twould show well enough under a mask, |
too. |
Lys. So
much for the face! |
Thar. But is
there no object in this suit to whet your |
tongue upon? |
Lys. None,
but Fortune send you well to wear it; for
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she best knows how you
got it. |
Thar. Faith,
'tis the portion she bestows upon younger |
brothers, valour and
good clothes. Marry, if you ask |
how we come by this
new suit, I must take time to |
answer it; for as the
ballad says, In written books I |
find it. Brother, these are the blossoms of spirit;
and I |
will have it said for
my father's honour, that some of |
his children were
truly begotten. |
Lys. Not
all? |
Thar. Shall
I tell you, brother, that I know will rejoice |
you? My former suits
have been all spenders; this shall |
be a speeder. |
Lys. A
thing to be heartily wished; but, brother, take |
heed you be not
gulled; be not too forward. |
Thar. 'T had
been well for me if you had followed that |
counsel. You were too
forward when you stepped into |
the world before me
and gulled me of the land that my |
spirits and parts were
indeed born to. |
Cyn. May we
not have the blessing to know the aim of |
your fortunes? What
coast, for Heaven's love? |
Thar. Nay,
'tis a project of state: you may see the |
preparation, but the
design lies hidden in the breasts of |
the wise. |
Lys. May we
not know't? |
Thar. Not
unless you'll promise me to laugh at it, for |
without your applause
I'll none. |
Lys. The
quality of it may be such as a laugh will not
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be ill bestowed
upon't; pray Heaven I call not Arsace |
sister. |
Cyn. What,
the pandress? |
Thar. Know
you (as who knows not?) the exquisite |
lady of the palace,
the late governor's admired widow, |
the rich and haughty
Countess Eudora? Were not she a |
jewel worth the
wearing, if a man knew how to win her? |
Lys. How's
that, how's that? |
Thar.
Brother, there is a certain goddess called |
Confidence, that
carries a main stroke in honourable |
preferments. Fortune
waits upon her, Cupid is at her |
beck; she sends them
both of errands. This deity doth |
promise me much
assistance in this business. |
Lys. But if
this deity should draw you up in a basket to |
your countess's
window, and there let you hang for all |
the wits in the town
to shoot at; how then? |
Thar. If she
do, let them shoot their bolts and spare |
not; I have a little
bird in a cage here that sings me |
better comfort. What
should be the bar? You'll say, |
I was page to the
Count her husband. What of that? I |
have thereby one foot
in her favour already. She has |
taken note of my
spirit and surveyed my good parts, |
and the picture of
them lives in her eye; which sleep, I |
know, cannot close
till she have embraced the |
substance. |
Lys. All
this savours of the blind goddess you speak of. |
Thar. Why
should I despair but that Cupid hath one
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dart in store for her
great ladyship, as well as for any |
other huge lady whom
she hath made stoop gallant to |
kiss their worthy
followers? In a word, I am assured |
of my speed. Such fair
attempts led by a brave resolve |
are evermore seconded
by Fortune. |
Cyn. But,
brother, have I not heard you say your own |
ears have been witness
to her vows, made solemnly to |
your late lord, in
memory of him to preserve till death |
the unstained honour
of a widow's bed? If nothing else, |
yet that might cool
your confidence. |
Thar. Tush,
sister! Suppose you should protest with |
solemn oath (as
perhaps you have done) if ever Heaven |
hears your prayers
that you may live to see my brother |
nobly interred, to
feed only upon fish and not endure the |
touch of flesh during
the wretched Lent of your |
miserable life; would
you believe it, brother? |
Lys. I am
therein most confident. |
Thar. Indeed
you had better believe it than try it. But |
pray, sister, tell me
− you are a woman − do not you |
wives nod your heads
and smile one upon another when |
ye meet abroad? |
Cyn. Smile?
Why so? |
Thar. As who
should say, “Are not we mad wenches, |
that can lead our
blind husbands thus by the noses?” Do |
you not brag among
yourselves how grossly you abuse |
their honest
credulities? How they adore you for saints, |
and you believe it,
while you adhorn their temples, and |
they believe it not?
How you vow widowhood in their |
lifetime and they believe
you, when even in the sight of |
their breathless
corse, ere they be fully cold, you join |
embraces with his
groom, or his physician, and perhaps |
his poisoner; or at
least, by the next moon (if you can |
expect so long)
solemnly plight new hymeneal bonds, |
with a wild,
confident, untamed ruffian – |
Lys. As for
example? |
Thar. And make him the top of
his house and |
sovereign lord of the
palace? As for example, look you, |
brother, this glass is
mine – |
Lys. What
of that? |
Thar. While
I am with it, it takes impression from my |
face; but can I make
it so mine, that it shall be of no use |
to any other? Will it
not do his office to you or you; and |
as well to my groom as
to myself? Brother, monopolies |
are cried down. Is it
not madness for me to believe, |
when I have conquered
that fort of chastity the great |
Countess, that if
another man of my making and mettle |
shall assault her, her
eyes and ears should lose their |
function, her other
parts their use, as if Nature had made |
her all in vain,
unless I only had stumbled into her |
quarters? |
Cyn.
Brother, I fear me in your travels, you have drunk |
too much of that
Italian air, that hath infected the whole |
mass of your ingenuous
nature, dried up in you all sap |
of generous disposition,
poisoned the very essence of |
your soul, and so
polluted your senses that whatsoever |
enters there takes
from them contagion and is to your |
fancy represented as
foul and tainted, which in itself, |
perhaps, is spotless. |
Thar. No,
sister, it hath refined my senses, and made
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me see with clear
eyes, and to judge of objects as they |
truly are, not as they
seem, and through their mask to |
discern the true face
of things. It tells me how short- |
lived widows' tears
are, that their weeping is in truth |
but laughing under a
mask, that they mourn in their |
gowns and laugh in
their sleeves; all which I believe |
as a Delphian oracle,
and am resolved to burn in that |
faith. And in that
resolution do I march to the great |
lady. |
Lys. You
lose time, brother, in discourse; by this had |
you bore up with the
lady, and clapped her aboard, for |
I know your confidence
will not dwell long in the |
service. |
Thar. No, I
will perform it in the conqueror's style. |
Your way is not to win
Penelope by suit, but by |
surprise. The castle's
carried by a sudden assault, that |
would perhaps sit out
a twelvemonth's siege. It would |
be a good breeding to
my young nephew here, if he |
could procure a stand
at the palace to see with what |
alacrity I'll acoast
her countess-ship, in what garb I will |
woo her, with what
facility I will win her. |
Lys. It
shall go hard but we'll hear your entertainment |
for your confidence
sake. |
Thar. And
having won her, nephew, this sweet face, |
Which all the city
says is so like me, |
Like me shall be
preferred, for I will wed thee |
To my great widow's
daughter and sole heir, |
The lovely spark, the
bright Laodicè. |
Lys. A good
pleasant dream! |
Thar. In this
eye I see |
That fire that shall
in me inflame the mother, |
And that in this shall
set on fire the daughter. |
It goes, sir, in a
blood; believe me, brother, |
These destinies go
ever in a blood. |
Lys. These
diseases do, brother, take heed of them;
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fare you well; take
heed you be not baffled. |
[Exeunt Lysander, Cynthia, Hylus, Ero; |
manet Tharsalio.] |
Thar. Now,
thou that art the third blind deity |
That governs earth in
all her happiness, |
The life of all
endowments. Confidence, |
Direct and prosper my
intentiön. |
Command thy servant
deities, Love and Fortune, |
To second my attempts
for this great lady, |
Whose page I lately
was; that she, whose board |
I might not sit at, I
may board abed, |
And under bring, who
bore so high her head. |
[Exit.] |
ACT I, SCENE II. |
A Room in the House of
Eudora. |
Enter Lysander, Lycus. |
Lycus. 'Tis
miraculous that you tell me, sir; he come to |
woo our lady mistress
for his wife? |
Lys. 'Tis a
frenzy he is possessed with, and will not be |
cured but by some violent
remedy. And you shall favour |
me so much to make me
a spectator of the scene. But is |
she, say you, already
accessible for suitors? I thought |
she would have stood
so stiffly on her widow vow, that |
she would not endure
the sight of a suitor. |
Lycus. Faith,
sir, Penelope could not bar her gates |
against her wooers;
but she will still be mistress of |
herself. It is, you
know, a certain itch in female blood: |
they love to be sued
to; but she'll hearken to no suitors. |
Lys. But by
your leave, Lycus, Penelope is not so wise |
as her husband
Ulysses, for he, fearing the jaws of the |
Siren, stopped his
ears with wax against her voice. |
They that fear the
adder's sting, will not come near her |
hissing. Is any suitor
with her now? |
Lycus. A
Spartan lord, dating himself our great
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Viceroy's kinsman, and
two or three other of his |
country lords as spots
in his train. He comes armed |
with his Altitude's
letters in grace of his person, with |
promise to make her a
duchess if she embrace the |
match. This is no mean
attraction to her high thoughts; |
but yet she disdains
him. |
Lys. And
how then shall my brother presume of |
acceptance? Yet I hold
it much more under her |
contentment to marry
such a nasty braggart, than under |
her honour to wed my
brother − a gentleman, (though I |
say't) more honourably
descended than that lord, who, |
perhaps, for all his
ancestry, would be much troubled to |
name you the place
where his father was born. |
Lycus. Nay, I
hold no comparison betwixt your brother |
and him. And the
venerean disease, to which they say |
he has been long
wedded, shall, I hope, first rot him, |
ere she endure the
savour of his sulphurous breath. |
Well, her ladyship is
at hand; y' are best take you to |
your stand. |
Lys.
Thanks, good friend Lycus! |
[Exit.] |
Enter Argus, barehead, with whom another usher, |
Lycus, joins, going over the stage. |
Hiarbas and Psorabeus next, Rebus single before |
Eudora, Laodice; |
Sthenia bearing her train, Ianthe following. |
Reb. I
admire, madam, you cannot love whom the |
Viceroy loves. |
Hiar. And
one whose veins swell so with his blood, |
madam, as they do in
his lordship. |
Psor. A near
and dear kinsman his lordship is to his |
Altitude the Viceroy;
in care of whose good speed here |
I know his Altitude
hath not slept a sound sleep since |
his departure. |
Eud. I
thank Venus I have, ever since he came. |
Reb. You
sleep away your honour, madam, if you |
neglect me. |
Hiar.
Neglect your lordship? That were a negligence |
no less than
disloyalty. |
Eud. I much
doubt that, sir; it were rather a |
presumption to take
him, being of the blood viceroyal. |
Reb. Not at
all, being offered, madam. |
Eud. But
offered ware is not so sweet, you know.
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They are the graces of
the Viceroy that woo me, not |
your lordship's, and I
conceive it should be neither |
honour nor pleasure to
you to be taken in for another |
man's favours. |
Reb. Taken
in, madam? You speak as I had no house |
to hide my head in. |
Eud. I have
heard so indeed, my lord, unless it be |
another man's. |
Reb. You
have heard untruth then; these lords can well |
witness I can want no
houses. |
Hiar. Nor
palaces, neither, my lord! |
Psor. Nor
courts neither! |
Eud. Nor temples, I think, neither; I believe we shall |
have a god of him. |
Enter Tharsalio. |
Arg. See
the bold fellow! Whither will you, sir? |
Thar. Away!
− All honour to you, madam! |
Eud. How
now, base companion? |
Thar. Base,
madam? He's not base that fights as high |
as your lips. |
Eud. And
does that beseem my servant? |
Thar. Your
court-servant, madam. |
Eud. One
that waited on my board? |
Thar. That
was only a preparation to my weight on
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your bed, madam. |
Eud. How
dar'st thou come to me with such a thought? |
Thar. Come
to you, madam? I dare come to you at |
midnight, and bid
defiance to the proudest spirit that |
haunts these your
loved shadows, and would any way |
make terrible the
access of my love to you. |
Eud. Love
me? Love my dog! |
Thar. I am
bound to that by the proverb, madam. |
Eud. Kennel
without with him; intrude not here. What |
is it thou presum'st
on? |
Thar. On
your judgment, madam, to choose a man,
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and not a giant; as
these are that come with titles and |
authority, as they
would conquer or ravish you. But I |
come to you with the
liberal and ingenuous graces, love, |
youth, and gentry; which
(in no more deformed a person |
than myself) deserve
any princess. |
Eud. In
your saucy opinion, sir, and sirrah too! Get |
gone, and let this
malapert humour return thee no more, |
for, afore Heaven,
I'll have thee tossed in blankets. |
Thar. In
blankets, madam? You must add your sheets, |
and you must be the
tosser. |
Reb. Nay,
then, sir, y' are as gross as you are saucy. |
Thar. And
all one, sir, for I am neither. |
Reb. [drawing]
Thou art both. |
Thar. Thou liest; keep up your smiter, Lord Rebus. |
Hiar. Usest
thou thus his Altitude's cousin? |
Reb. The
place, thou know'st, protects thee. |
Thar. Tie up
your valour then till another place turn me |
loose to you. You are
the lord, I take it, that wooed my |
great mistress here
with letters from his Altitude; which |
while she was reading,
your lordship (to entertain time) |
straddled and scaled
your fingers, as you would show |
what an itching desire
you had to get betwixt her sheets. |
Hiar.
'Slight, why does your lordship endure him? |
Reb. The
place, the place, my lord! |
Thar. Be you
his attorney, sir. |
Hiar. What
would you do, sir? |
Thar. Make
thee leap out at window at which thou |
cam'st in. Whoreson
bagpipe lords! |
Eud. What
rudeness is this? |
Thar. What
tameness is it in you, madam, to stick at |
the discarding of such
a suitor? A lean lord, dubbed with |
the lard of others! A
diseased lord, too, that opening |
certain magic
characters in an unlawful book, up start as |
many aches in's bones,
as there are ouches in's skin. |
Send him, mistress, to
the widow your tenant, the |
virtuous pandress
Arsace. I perceive he has crowns |
in's purse, that make
him proud of a string; let her pluck |
the goose therefore,
and her maids dress him. |
Psor. Still,
my lord, suffer him? |
Reb. The
place, sir, believe it, the place! |
Thar. O,
good Lord Rebus, the place is never like to be |
yours that you need
respect it so much. |
Eud. Thou
wrong'st the noble gentleman. |
Thar. Noble gentleman? A tumour, an imposthume, he
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is, madam: a very
hautboy, a bag-pipe, in whom there is |
nothing but wind, and
that none of the sweetest |
neither. |
Eud. Quit the house of him by
th' head and shoulders! |
Thar. Thanks
to your honour, madam, and my lord |
cousin, the Viceroy,
shall thank you. |
Reb. So
shall he indeed, sir. |
Lycus, Arg. Will
you begone, sir? |
Thar. Away,
poor fellows! |
Eud. What
is he made of, or what devil sees |
Your childish and
effeminate spirits in him, |
That thus ye shun him?
Free us of thy sight. |
Begone, or I protest
thy life shall go! |
Thar. Yet
shall my ghost stay still, and haunt those beauties |
And glories that have
rendered it immortal. |
But since I see your
blood runs, for the time, |
High in that
contradiction that fore-runs |
Truest agreements
(like the elements, |
Fighting before they
generate) and that time |
Must be attended most
in things most worth, |
I leave your honour
freely, and commend |
That life you
threaten, when you please, to be |
Adventured in your
service, so your honour |
Require it likewise. |
Eud. Do
not come again. |
Thar. I'll
come again, believe it, and again. |
[Exit.] |
Eud. If he
shall dare to come again, I charge you |
Shut doors upon him. |
Arg. You must shut them, madam, |
To all men else then,
if it please your honour; |
For if that any enter,
he'll be one. |
Eud. I
hope, wise sir, a guard will keep him out. |
Arg. Afore
Heaven, not a guard, an't please your |
honour! |
Eud. Thou
liest, base ass; one man enforce a guard? |
I'll turn ye all away,
by our isle's goddess, |
If he but set a foot
within my gates. |
Psor. Your
honour shall do well to have him poisoned. |
Hiar. Or
begged of your cousin the Viceroy. |
[Exeunt.] |
ACT I, SCENE III. |
Before the House of
Eudora. |
Lysander, from his stand. |
Lys. This
braving wooer hath the success expected;
|
the favour I obtained
made me witness to the sport, |
and let his confidence
be sure, I'll give it him home. |
The news by this is
blown through the four quarters of |
the city. Alas, good
confidence! But the happiness is, |
he has a forehead of
proof; the stain shall never stick |
there, whatsoever his
reproach be. |
Enter Tharsalio. |
[Aside] What,
in discourse? |
Thar. Hell
and the Furies take this vile encounter! |
Who would imagine this
Saturnian peacock |
Could be so barbarous
to use a spirit |
Of my erection with
such low respect? |
'Fore Heaven, it cuts
my gall; but I'll dissemble it. |
Lys. What,
my noble lord? |
Thar. Well,
sir, that may be yet, and means to be. |
Lys. What
means your lordship, then, to hang that head |
that hath been so
erected; it knocks, sir, at your bosom
|
to come in and hide
itself. |
Thar. Not a
jot! |
Lys. I hope
by this time it needs fear no horns. |
Thar. Well,
sir, but yet that blessing runs not always in |
a blood. |
Lys. What,
blanketed? O the gods! Spurned out by |
grooms, like a base
bisogno! Thrust out by th' head and |
shoulders! |
Thar. You do
well, sir, to take your pleasure of me. − |
[Aside] I may
turn tables with you ere long. |
Lys. What,
has thy wit's fine engine taken cold? Art |
stuffed in th' head?
Canst answer nothing? |
Thar. Truth
is, I like my entertainment the better that |
'twas no better. |
Lys. Now
the gods forbid that this opinion should run |
in a blood! |
Thar. Have
not you heard this principle, “All things by |
strife engender”? |
Lys. Dogs
and cats do. |
Thar. And
men and women too. |
Lys. Well,
brother, in earnest, you have now set your |
confidence to school,
from whence I hope't has brought |
home such a lesson as
will instruct his master never |
after to begin such
attempts as end in laughter. |
Thar. Well,
sir, you lesson my confidence still; I pray |
heavens your
confidence have not more shallow ground |
(for that I know) than
mine you reprehend so. |
Lys. My
confidence? In what? |
Thar. May be
you trust too much. |
Lys.
Wherein? |
Thar. In
human frailty. |
Lys. Why,
brother, know you aught that may impeach |
my confidence, as this
success may yours? Hath your |
observation discovered
any such frailty in my wife (for |
that is your aim I
know) then let me know it. |
Thar. Good,
good! Nay, brother, I write no books of |
observations; let your
confidence bear out itself, as mine |
shall me. |
Lys. That's
scarce a brother's speech. If there be
|
aught wherein your
brother's good might any way be |
questioned, can you
conceal it from his bosom? |
Thar. So,
so! Nay, my saying was but general. I |
glanced at no
particular. |
Lys. Then
must I press you further. You spake (as |
to yourself, but yet I
overheard) as if you knew some |
disposition of
weakness where I most had fixed my |
trust. I challenge you
to let me know what 'twas. |
Thar.
Brother, are you wise? |
Lys. Why? |
Thar. Be
ignorant. Did you never hear of Actӕon? |
Lys. What
then? |
Thar.
Curiosity was his death. He could not be content |
to adore Diana in her
temple, but he must needs dog her |
to her retired
pleasures, and see her in her nakedness. |
Do you enjoy the sole
privilege of your wife's bed? |
Have you no pretty
Paris for your page? No young |
Adonis to front you
there? |
Lys. I
think none; I know not. |
Thar. Know
not still, brother. Ignorance and credulity |
are your sole means to
obtain that blessing. You see |
your greatest clerks,
your wisest politicians are not that |
way fortunate; your
learned lawyers would lose a dozen |
poor men's causes to
gain a lease on't, but for a term. |
Your physician is
jealous of his. Your sages in general, |
by seeing too much,
oversee that happiness. Only your |
blockheadly tradesman,
your honest-meaning citizen, |
your nott-headed
country gentleman, your |
unapprehending
stinkard, is blessed with the sole |
prerogative of his
wife's chamber, for which he is yet |
beholding, not to his
stars, but to his ignorance. For, if |
he be wise, brother, I
must tell you the case alters. |
How do you relish
these things, brother? |
Lys.
Passing ill! |
Thar. So do
sick men solid meats. Heark you, brother, |
are you not jealous? |
Lys. No; do
you know cause to make me? |
Thar. Hold
you there! Did your wife never spice your |
broth with a dram of
sublimate? Hath she not yielded |
up the fort of her
honour to a staring soldado, and |
(taking courage from
her guilt) played open bankrout |
of all shame, and run
the country with him? Then |
bless your stars, bow
your knees to Juno. Look where |
she appears. |
Enter Cynthia, Hylus and Ero. |
Cyn. We
have sought you long, sir; there's a |
messenger within hath
brought you letters from the |
Court, and desires
your speech. |
Lys. [Aside]
I can discover nothing in her looks. − |
Go, I'll not be long. |
Cyn. Sir,
it is of weight, the bearer says; and, besides, |
much hastens his
departure. − Honourable brother, cry |
mercy! What, in a
conqueror's style? But come and |
overcome? |
Thar. A
fresh course! |
Cyn. Alas,
you see of how slight metal widows' vows |
are made! |
Thar. [Aside]
And that shall you prove too ere long. |
Cyn. Yet,
for the honour of our sex, boast not abroad |
this your easy
conquest; another might perhaps have |
stayed longer below
stairs, it but was your confidence |
that surprised her
love. |
Hyl. My
uncle hath instructed me how to acoast an |
honourable lady; to
win her, not by suit, but by surprise. |
Thar. The
whelp and all! |
Hyl. Good
uncle, let not your near honours change
|
your manners; be not
forgetful of your promise to me, |
touching your lady's
daughter, Laodice. My fancy runs |
so upon't that I dream
every night of her. |
Thar. A good
chicken! Go thy ways, thou hast done |
well; eat bread with
thy meat. |
Cyn. Come,
sir, will you in? |
Lys. I'll
follow you. |
Cyn. I'll
not stir a foot without you. I cannot satisfy the |
messenger's
impatience. |
[He takes Tharsalio aside.] |
Lys. Will
you not resolve me, brother? |
Thar. Of what? |
Lysander stamps and goes out vexed, |
with Cynthia, Hylus, Ero. |
So, there's veney for
veney, I have given't him i' th' |
speeding place for all
his confidence. Well, out of this |
perhaps there may be
moulded matter of more mirth |
than my baffling. It
shall go hard but I’ll make my |
constant sister act as
famous a scene as Virgil did his |
mistress, who caused
all the fire in Rome to fail, so that |
none could light a
torch but at her nose. Now forth! At |
this house dwells a
virtuous dame − sometimes of |
worthy fame, now like
a decayed merchant turned |
broker − and
retails refuse commodities for unthrifty |
gallants. Her wit I
must employ upon this business to |
prepare my next
encounter, but in such a fashion as |
shall make all split.
− Ho, Madam Arsace! − Pray
|
Heaven the
oyster-wives have not brought the news |
of my wooing hither
amongst their stale pilchards. |
Enter Arsace, Thomasin. |
Ars. What,
my lord of the palace? |
Thar. Look
you! |
Ars. Why,
this was done like a beaten soldier. |
Thar. Hark,
I must speak with you. I have a share |
for you in this rich
adventure. You must be the ass |
charged with crowns to
make way to the fort, and I |
the conqueror to
follow, and seize it. Seest thou this |
jewel? |
Ars. Is't
come to that? − Why, Thomasin! |
Thom. Madam!
|
Ars. Did
not one of the Countess's serving-men tell us |
that this gentleman
was sped? |
Thom. That
he did; and how her honour graced and |
entertained him in
very familiar manner. |
Ars. And
brought him downstairs herself. |
Thom. Ay,
forsooth, and commanded her men to bear |
him out of doors. |
Thar.
'Slight, pelted with rotten eggs? |
Ars. Nay,
more; that he had already possessed her |
sheets. |
Thom. No,
indeed, mistress, 'twas her blankets. |
Thar. Out,
you young hedge-sparrow; learn to tread |
afore you be fledge! |
[He kicks her out.] |
Well, have you done
now, lady? |
Ars. O, my
sweet kilbuck! |
Thar. You
now, in your shallow pate, think this a |
disgrace to me; such a
disgrace as is a battered helmet |
on a soldier's head;
it doubles his resolution. Say, shall |
I use thee? |
Ars. Use me?
|
Thar. O holy
reformation, how art thou fallen down |
from the upper bodies
of the church to the skirts of the |
city! Honesty is
stripped out of his true substance into |
verbal nicety. Common
sinners startle at common |
terms, and they that
by whole mountains swallow down |
the deeds of darkness,
a poor mote of a familiar word |
makes them turn up the
white o' th’ eye. Thou art the |
lady's tenant. |
Ars. For
term, sir. |
Thar. A good
induction: be successful for me, make |
me lord of the palace,
and thou shalt hold thy tenement |
to thee and thine
heirs for ever, in free smockage, as of |
the manner of panderage,
provided always – |
Ars. Nay,
if you take me unprovided! |
Thar.
Provided, I say, that thou mak'st thy repair to her |
presently with a plot
I will instruct thee in; and for thy |
surer access to her
greatness thou shalt present her, as |
from thyself, with
this jewel. |
Ars. So her
old grudge stand not betwixt her and me. |
Thar. Fear
not that. |
Presents are present
cures for female grudges, |
Make bad seem good,
alter the case with judges. |
[Exit with Arsace.] |
ACT II. |
SCENE I. |
A Room in the House of
Lysander. |
Enter Lysander and Tharsalio. |
Lys. So now we are ourselves. Brother, that
ill-relished |
speech you let slip
from your tongue hath taken so deep |
hold of my thoughts,
that they will never give me rest |
till I be resolved
what 'twas you said, you know, |
touching my wife. |
Thar. Tush, I am weary of this subject! I said not
so. |
Lys. By
truth itself, you did! I overheard you. Come, it |
shall nothing move me,
whatsoever it be; pray thee |
unfold briefly what
you know. |
Thar. Why, briefly, brother, I know my sister to
be |
the wonder of the
earth and the envy of the heavens, |
virtuous, loyal, and
what not. Briefly, I know she hath |
vowed that till death
and after death she'll hold inviolate |
her bonds to you, and
that her black shall take no other |
hue, all which I
firmly believe. In brief, brother, I know |
her to be a woman. But
you know, brother, I have other |
irons on th' anvil. |
[Exiturus.] |
Lys. You
shall not leave me so unsatisfied; tell me
|
what 'tis you know. |
Thar. Why,
brother, if you be sure of your wife's
|
loyalty for term of
life, why should you be curious to |
search the almanacs
for after-times, whether some |
wandering Æneas should
enjoy your reversion, or |
whether your true
turtle would sit mourning on a |
withered branch, till
Atropos cut her throat? Beware of |
curiosity, for who can
resolve you? You'll say, perhaps, |
her vow. |
Lys.
Perhaps I shall. |
Thar. Tush,
herself knows not what she shall do, when |
she is transformed
into a widow! You are now a sober |
and staid gentleman.
But if Diana for your curiosity |
should translate you
into a monkey, do you know what |
gambols you should
play? Your only way to be resolved |
is to die and make
trial of her. |
Lys. A dear
experiment; then I must rise again to be |
resolved. |
Thar. You
shall not need. I can send you speedier |
advertisement of her
constancy by the next ripier that |
rides that way with
mackerel. And so I leave you. |
[Exit Tharsalio.] |
Lys. All
the Furies in hell attend thee! Has given me |
A bone to tire on,
with a pestilence. 'Slight, know! |
What can he know? What
can his eye observe |
More than mine own, or
the most piercing sight |
That ever viewed her?
By this light I think |
Her privat'st thought
may dare the eye of Heaven. |
And challenge th'
envious world to witness it. |
I know him for a wild,
corrupted youth, |
Whom profane ruffians,
squires to bawds and strumpets, |
Drunkards spewed out
of taverns into th' sinks |
Of tap-houses and
stews, revolts from manhood, |
Debauched perdus, have
by their companies |
Turned devil like
themselves, and stuffed his soul |
With damned opinions
and unhallowed thoughts |
Of womanhood, of all
humanity, |
Nay, deity itself. |
Enter Lycus.
|
Welcome, friend
Lycus. |
Lycus. Have
you met with your capricious brother?
|
Lys. He
parted hence but now. |
Lycus. And
has he yet resolved you of that point you |
brake with me about? |
Lys. Yes,
he bids me die for further trial of her |
constancy. |
Lycus. That
were a strange physic for a jealous |
patient; to cure his
thirst with a draught of poison. Faith, |
sir, discharge your
thoughts on't; think 'twas but a buzz |
devised by him to set
your brains a-work, and divert |
your eye from his
disgrace. The world hath written your |
wife in highest lines
of honoured fame; her virtues so |
admired in this isle
as the report thereof sounds in |
foreign ears; and
strangers oft arriving here, as some |
rare sight, desire to
view her presence, thereby to |
compare the picture
with the original. |
Nor think he can turn
so far rebel to his blood, |
Or to the truth
itself, to misconceive |
Her spotless love and
loyalty; perhaps |
Oft having heard you
hold her faith so sacred, |
As, you being dead, no
man might stir a spark |
Of virtuous love in
way of second bonds, |
As if you at your
death should carry with you |
Both branch and root
of all affectiön, |
'T may be, in that
point he's an infidel, |
And thinks your confidence
may overween. |
Lys. So
think not I. |
Lycus. Nor I,
if ever any made it good. |
I am resolved, of all
she'll prove no changeling. |
Lys. Well,
I must yet be further satisfied. |
And vent this humour
by some strain of wit; |
Somewhat I'll do, but
what I know not yet. |
[Exeunt.] |
ACT II, SCENE II. |
A Room in the House of
Eudora. |
Enter Sthenia, Ianthe. |
Sthen.
Passion of virginity, Ianthe, how shall we quit |
ourselves of this
pandress that is so importunate to |
speak with us? Is she
known to be a pandress? |
Ian. Ay, as
well as we are known to be waiting- |
women. |
Sthen. A
shrew take your comparison! |
Ian. Let's
call out Argus, that bold ass, that never
|
weighs what he does or
says, but walks and talks like |
one in a sleep, to
relate her attendance to my lady, and |
present her. |
Sthen. Who,
an't please your honour? None so fit to set |
on any dangerous
exploit. − Ho, Argus! |
Enter Argus, bare. |
Arg. What's
the matter, wenches? |
Sthen. You
must tell my lady here's a gentlewoman |
called Arsace, her
honour's tenant, attends her to impart |
important business to
her. |
Arg. I will
presently. |
[Exit Argus.] |
Ian. Well,
she has a welcome present to bear out her |
unwelcome presence;
and I never knew but a good gift |
would welcome a bad
person to the purest. − Arsace! |
Enter Arsace. |
Ars. Ay,
mistress! |
Sthen. Give
me your present; I'll do all I can to make |
way both for it and
yourself. |
Ars. You
shall bind me to your service, lady. |
Sthen. Stand
unseen! |
Enter Lycus, Eudora, Laodice; Rebus, Hiarbas, |
Psorabeus, coming after; Argus coming to Eudora. |
Arg. Here's a gentlewoman (an't please your
honour) |
one of your tenants,
desires access to you. |
Eud. What
tenant? What's her name? |
Arg.
Arsace, she says, madam. |
Eud.
Arsace? What, the bawd? |
Arg. The
bawd, madam? That's without my privity.
|
[She strikes him.] |
Eud. Out,
ass! Know'st not thou the pandress Arsace? |
Sthen. She
presents your honour with this jewel. |
Eud. This
jewel? How came she by such a jewel? |
She has had great
customers. |
Arg. She
had need, madam; she sits at a great rent.
|
Eud. Alas,
for your great rent! I'll keep her jewel, and |
keep you her out, ye
were best: speak to me for a |
pandress? |
Arg. [Aside]
What shall we do? |
Sthen. [Aside]
Go to, let us alone! − Arsace! |
Ars. Ay,
lady! |
Sthen. You
must pardon us, we cannot obtain your |
access. |
Ars.
Mistress Sthenia, tell her honour, if I get not |
access to her, and
that instantly, she's undone. |
Sthen. This
is something of importance − Madam, she |
swears your honour is
undone, if she speak not with you |
instantly. |
Eud.
Undone? |
Ars. Pray
her, for her honour's sake, to give me instant |
access to her. |
Sthen. She
makes her business your honour, madam; |
and entreats, for the
good of that, her instant speech |
with you. |
Eud. How
comes my honour in question? Bring her
|
to me. |
[Arsace advances.] |
Ars. Our
Cyprian goddess save your good honour! |
Eud. Stand
you off, I pray. How dare you, mistress, |
importune access to me
thus, considering the last |
warning I gave for
your absence? |
Ars.
Because, madam, I have been moved by your |
honour's last most
chaste admonition to leave the |
offensive life I led
before. |
Eud. Ay? Have
you left it then? |
Ars. Ay, I
assure your honour, unless it be for the |
pleasure of two or
three poor ladies, that have prodigal |
knights to their
husbands. |
Eud. Out on
thee, impudent! |
Ars. Alas,
madam, we would all be glad to live in our |
callings. |
Eud. Is
this the reformed life thou talk'st on?
|
Ars. I
beseech your good honour mistake me not, I
|
boast of nothing but
my charity, that's the worst. |
Eud. You
get these jewels with charity, no doubt. But |
what's the point in
which my honour stands endangered, |
I pray? |
Ars. In
care of that, madam, I have presumed to
|
offend your chaste
eyes with my presence. Hearing it |
reported for truth and
generally that your honour will |
take to husband a
young gentleman of this city called |
Tharsalio − |
Eud. I take
him to husband? |
Ars. If
your honour does, you are utterly undone, for
|
he's the most
incontinent and insatiate man of women
|
that ever Venus
blessed with ability to please them. |
Eud. Let
him be the devil! I abhor his thought, and
|
could I be informed
particularly of any of these |
slanderers of mine
honour, he should as dearly dare it |
as anything wherein
his life were endangered. |
Ars. Madam,
the report of it is so strongly confident,
|
that I fear the strong
destiny of marriage is at work in it. |
But if it be, madam,
let your honour's known virtues |
resist and defy it for
him, for not a hundred will serve |
his one turn. I
protest to your honour, when (Venus |
pardon me) I winked at
my unmaidenly exercise, I have |
known nine in a night
made mad with his love. |
Eud. What
tell'st thou me of his love? I tell thee I
|
abhor him, and destiny
must have another mould for my |
thoughts than Nature
or mine honour, and a witchcraft |
above both, to transform
me to another shape as soon as |
to another conceit of
him. |
Ars. Then
is your good honour just as I pray for you; |
and, good madam, even
for your virtue's sake, and |
comfort of all your
dignities and possessions, fix your |
whole womanhood against
him. He will so enchant you, |
as never man did
woman: nay, a goddess (say his |
light huswives) is not
worthy of his sweetness. |
Eud. Go to,
begone! |
Ars. Dear
madam, your honour's most perfect |
admonitions have
brought me to such a hate of these |
imperfections, that I
could not but attend you with my |
duty, and urge his
unreasonable manhood to the fill. |
Eud.
Manhood, quoth you? |
Ars. Nay,
beastlihood, I might say, indeed, madam, but |
for saving your
honour. Nine in a night, said I? |
Eud. Go to,
no more! |
Ars. No
more, madam? That's enough, one would |
think. |
Eud. Well,
begone, I bid thee! |
Ars. Alas,
madam, your honour is the chief of our city, |
and to whom shall I
complain of these inchastities |
(being your ladyship's
reformed tenant) but to you that |
are chastest? |
Eud. I pray
thee go thy ways, and let me see this |
reformation you
pretend continued. |
Ars. I
humbly thank your good honour that was first |
cause of it. |
Eud. Here's
a complaint as strange as my suitor.
|
Ars. I
beseech your good honour think upon him, make |
him an example. |
Eud. Yet
again? |
Ars. All my
duty to your Excellence! |
[Exit Arsace.] |
Eud. These
sorts of licentious persons, when they are
|
once reclaimed, are
most vehement against licence. But |
it is the course of
the world to dispraise faults and use |
them, that so we may
use them the safer. What might a |
wise widow resolve
upon this point, now? Contentment |
is the end of all
worldly beings. Beshrew her, would she |
had spared her news! |
[Exit.] |
Reb. See if
she take not a contrary way to free herself |
of us. |
Hiar. You
must complain to his Altitude. |
Psor. All
this for trial is; you must endure |
That will have wives,
nought else with them is sure. |
[Exit Rebus with the others.] |
ACT II, SCENE III. |
Before the House of
Eudora. |
Enter Tharsalio, Arsace. |
Thar. Hast
thou been admitted, then? |
Ars.
Admitted? Ay, into her heart, I'll able it; never |
was man so praised
with a dispraise; nor so spoken for |
in being railed on.
I'll give you my word, I have set her |
heart upon as tickle a
pin as the needle of a dial, that |
will never let it rest
till it be in the right position. |
Thar. Why
dost thou imagine this? |
Ars.
Because I saw Cupid shoot in my words, and |
open his wounds in her
looks. Her blood went and |
came of errands
betwixt her face and her heart, and |
these changes I can
tell you are shrewd tell-tales. |
Thar. Thou speak'st like a doctress in thy faculty;
but, |
howsoever, for all
this foil I'll retrieve the game once |
again; he's a shallow
gamester that for one displeasing |
cast gives up so fair
a game for lost. |
Ars. Well,
'twas a villanous invention of thine, and had
|
a swift operation; it
took like sulphur. And yet this |
virtuous Countess hath
to my ear spun out many a |
tedious lecture of
pure sister's thread against |
concupiscence; but
ever with such an affected zeal as |
my mind gave me she
had a kind of secret titillation to |
grace my poor house
sometimes, but that she feared a |
spice of the sciatica,
which, as you know, ever runs in |
the blood. |
Thar. And,
as you know, soaks into the bones. But to
|
say truth, these angry
heats that break out at the lips of |
these strait-laced
ladies, are but as symptoms of a lustful |
fever that boils
within them. For wherefore rage wives |
at their husbands so
when they fly out? For zeal against |
the sin? |
Ars. No,
but because they did not purge that sin.
|
Thar. Th'
art a notable siren, and I swear to thee, if I |
prosper, not only to
give thee thy manor-house gratis, |
but to marry thee to
some one knight or other, and bury |
thy trade in thy
ladyship. Go, begone! |
[Exit Arsace.] |
Enter Lycus.
|
Thar. What
news, Lycus? Where's the lady? |
Lycus.
Retired into her orchard. |
Thar. A
pregnant badge of love, she's melancholy. – |
Lycus. 'Tis
with the sight of her Spartan wooer. But |
howsoever 'tis with
her, you have practised strangely |
upon your
brother. |
Thar. Why
so? |
Lycus. You
had almost lifted his wit off the hinges.
|
That spark jealousy,
falling into his dry, melancholy |
brain, had well near
set the whole house on fire. |
Thar. No
matter, let it work; I did but pay him in's
|
own coin. 'Sfoot, he
plied me with such a volley of |
unseasoned scoffs, as
would have made Patience itself |
turn ruffian, attiring
itself in wounds and blood. But is |
his humour better
qualified, then? |
Lycus. Yes,
but with a medicine ten parts more |
dangerous than the
sickness: you know how strange his |
dotage ever was on his
wife, taking special glory to have |
her love and loyalty
to him so renowned abroad; to |
whom she often-times
hath vowed constancy after life, |
till her own death had
brought, forsooth, her widow- |
troth to bed. This he
joyed in strangely, and was therein |
of infallible belief,
till your surmise began to shake it; |
which hath loosed it
so, as now there's nought can settle |
it but a trial, which
he's resolved upon. |
Thar. As
how, man, as how? |
Lycus. He is
resolved to follow your advice, to die and |
make trial of her
stableness; and you must lend your |
hand to it. |
Thar. What,
to cut 's throat? |
Lycus. To
forge a rumour of his death, to uphold it by |
circumstance, maintain
a public face of mourning, and |
all things
appertaining. |
Thar. Ay,
but the means, man? What time? What |
probability? |
Lycus. Nay, I
think he has not licked his whelp into full |
shape yet, but you
shall shortly hear on 't. |
Thar. And
when shall this strange conception see light? |
Lycus.
Forthwith; there's nothing stays him but some |
odd business of
import, which he must wind up; lest, |
perhaps, his absence
by occasion of his intended trial |
be prolonged above his
aims. |
Thar. Thanks
for this news, i'faith! This may perhaps |
prove happy to my
nephew. Truth is, I love my sister |
well and must
acknowledge her more than ordinary |
virtues. But she hath
so possessed my brother's heart |
with vows and disavowings,
sealed with oaths, of |
second nuptials, as,
in that confidence, he hath invested |
her in all his state,
the ancient inheritance of our family; |
and left my nephew and
the rest to hang upon her pure |
devotion; so as he
dead, and she matching (as I am |
resolved she will)
with some young prodigal, what must |
ensue, but her
post-issue beggared, and our house, |
already sinking,
buried quick in ruin. But this trial may |
remove it; and since
'tis come to this, mark but the issue, |
Lycus; for all these
solemn vows, if I do not make her |
prove in the handling
as weak as a wafer, say I lost my |
time in travel. This
resolution, then, has set his wits |
in joint again; he's
quiet? |
Lycus. Yes,
and talks of you again in the fairest |
manner; listens after
your speed – |
Thar. Nay,
he's passing kind; but I am glad of this trial, |
for all that. |
Lycus. Which
he thinks to be a flight beyond your wing. |
Thar. But he
will change that thought ere long. My bird |
you saw even now sings
me good news, and makes |
hopeful signs to me. |
Lycus.
Somewhat can I say too. Since your
|
messenger's departure
her ladyship hath been |
something altered
− more pensive than before − and |
took occasion to
question of you, what your addictions |
were, of what taste
your humour was, of what cut you |
wore your wit? And all
this in a kind of disdainful scorn.
|
Thar. Good
calendars, Lycus! Well, I'll pawn this jewel |
with thee, my next
encounter shall quite alter my |
brother's judgment.
Come, let's in; he shall commend |
it for a discreet and
honourable attempt. |
Men's judgments sway
on that side Fortune leans, |
Thy wishes shall
assist me. |
Lycus. And my means.
|
[Exeunt.] |
ACT II, SCENE IV. |
Enter Argus, Clinias, Sthenia, Ianthe. |
Arg. I must
confess I was ignorant what 'twas to court |
a lady till now. |
Sthen. And I
pray you, what is it now? |
Arg. To
court her, I perceive, is to woo her with letters |
from Court; for so
this Spartan lord's Court discipline |
teacheth. |
Sthen. His
lordship hath procured a new packet from |
his Altitude. |
Clin. If he bring no better
ware than letters in's packet, |
I shall greatly doubt
of his good speed. |
Ian. If his
lordship did but know how gracious his |
aspect is to my lady
in this solitary humour. |
Clin. Well,
these retired walks of hers are not usual,
|
and bode some
alteration in her thoughts. What may |
be the cause,
Sthenia? |
Sthen. Nay,
'twould trouble Argus with his hundred
|
eyes to descry the
cause. |
Ian. Venus
keep her upright, that she fall not from the |
state of her honour;
my fear is that some of these |
serpentine suitors
will tempt her from her constant vow |
of widowhood. If they
do, good night to our good days! |
Sthen. 'Twere
a sin to suspect her: I have been witness |
to so many of her
fearful protestations to our late lord |
against that course;
to her infinite oaths imprinted on his |
lips, and sealed in
his heart with such imprecations to |
her bed, if ever it
should receive a second impression; |
to her open and often
destestations of that incestuous |
life (as she termed
it) of widows' marriages, as being |
but a kind of lawful
adultery, like usury permitted by |
the law, not approved;
that to wed a second, was no |
better than to cuckold
the first; that women should |
entertain wedlock as
one body, as one life, beyond |
which there were no
desire, no thought, no repentance |
from it, no
restitution to it: so as if the conscience of her |
vows should not restrain
her, yet the world's shame to |
break such a constant
resolution, should repress any |
such motion in her. |
Arg. Well,
for vows, they are gone to Heaven with her |
husband, they bind not
upon earth; and as for women's |
resolutions, I must
tell you, the planets, and (as Ptolemy |
says) the winds have a
great stroke in them. Trust not |
my learning if her
late strangeness and exorbitant |
solitude be not
hatching some new monster. |
Ian. Well
applied, Argus; make you husbands |
monsters? |
Arg. I
spoke of no husbands: but you wenches have
|
the pregnant wits to
turn monsters into husbands, as |
you turn husbands into
monsters. |
Sthen. Well,
Ianthe, 'twere high time we made in to
|
part our lady and her
Spartan wooer. |
Ian. We shall
appear to her like the two fortunate stars |
in a tempest to save
the shipwrack of her patience. |
Sthen. Ay,
and to him too, I believe; for by this time he |
hath spent the last
dram of his news. |
Arg. That
is, of his wit. |
Sthen. Just,
good wittols! |
Ian. If
not, and that my lady be not too deep in her new |
dumps, we shall hear
from his lordship what such a lord |
said of his wife the
first night he embraced her; to what |
gentleman such a count
was beholding for his fine |
children; what young
lady such an old count should |
marry; what revels,
what presentments, are towards; |
and who penned the
pegmas, and so forth: and yet, for |
all this, I know her
harsh suitor hath tired her to the |
uttermost scruple of
her forbearance, and will do more, |
unless we two, like a
pair of shears, cut asunder the |
thread of his
discourse. |
Sthen. Well
then, let's in; but, my masters, wait you
|
on your charge at your
perils, see that you guard her |
approach from any more
intruders. |
Ian.
Excepting young Tharsalio. |
Sthen. True,
excepting him indeed, for a guard of men
|
is not able to keep
him out, an't please your honour. |
Arg. Oh,
wenches, that's the property of true valour,
|
to promise like a
pigmy and perform like a giant. If he |
come, I'll be sworn
I'll do my lady's commandment upon |
him. |
Ian. What,
beat him out? |
Sthen. If he
should, Tharsalio would not take it ill at his |
hands, for he does but
his lady's commandment. |
Enter Tharsalio. |
Arg. Well,
by Hercules, he comes not here! |
Sthen. By
Venus, but he does: or else she hath heard
|
my lady's prayers, and
sent some gracious spirit in his |
likeness to fright
away that Spartan wooer that haunts |
her. |
Thar. There
stand her sentinels. |
Arg.
'Slight, the ghost appears again! |
Thar. Save
ye, my quondam fellows in arms! Save ye, |
my women! |
Sthen. Your
women, sir? |
Thar. 'Twill
be so. What, no courtesies? No |
preparation of grace?
Observe me, I advise you for |
your own sakes. |
Ian. For
your own sake, I advise you to pack hence,
|
lest your impudent
valour cost you dearer than you think. |
Clin. What
senseless boldness is this, Tharsalio? |
Arg. Well
said, Clinias, talk to him. |
Clin. I
wonder that notwithstanding the shame of your |
last entertainment,
and threatenings of worse, you would
|
yet presume to trouble
this place again. |
Thar. Come,
y' are a widgeon; off with your hat, sir, |
acknowledge! Forecast
is better than labour. Are you |
squint-eyed? Can you
not see afore you? A little |
foresight, I can tell
you, might stead you much, |
as the stars shine
now. |
Clin. 'Tis
well, sir, 'tis not for nothing your brother is |
ashamed on you. But,
sir, you must know, we are |
charged to bar your
entrance. |
Thar. But,
whiffler, know you, that whoso shall dare to |
execute that charge,
I'll be his executioner. |
Arg. By
Jove, Clinias, methinks the gentleman speaks |
very honourably. |
Thar. Well, I
see this house needs reformation; here's |
a fellow stands behind
now of a forwarder insight than |
ye all. − What
place hast thou? |
Arg. What
place you please, sir. |
Thar. Law
you, sir! Here's a fellow to make a |
gentleman usher, sir!
I discharge you of the place, |
and do here invest thee
into his room. Make much of |
thy hair, thy wit will
suit it rarely. And for the full |
possession of thine
office, come, usher me to thy lady; |
and to keep thy hand
supple, take this from me. |
Arg. No
bribes, sir, an't please your worship! |
Thar. Go to,
thou dost well, but pocket it for all that;
|
it's no impair to
thee, the greatest do 't. |
Arg. Sir,
'tis your love only that I respect, but since out |
of your love you
please to bestow it upon me, it were |
want of courtship in
me to refuse it; I'll acquaint my |
lady with your coming.
|
[Exit Argus.] |
Thar. How
say by this? Have not I made a fit choice,
|
that hath so soon
attained the deepest mystery of his |
profession? Good
sooth, wenches, a few courtesies |
had not been cast away
upon your new lord. |
Sthen. We'll
believe that, when our lady has a new son |
of your getting. |
Enter Argus, Eudora, Rebus, Hiarbas, Psorabeus. |
Eud. What's
the matter? Who's that you say is come? |
Arg. The
bold gentleman, an't please your honour. |
Eud. Why,
thou fleering ass, thou – |
Arg. An't
please your honour. |
Eud. Did
not I forbid his approach by all the charge
|
and duty of thy
service? |
Thar. Madam,
this fellow only is intelligent; for he
|
truly understood his
command according to the style |
of the Court of Venus,
that is, by contraries: when you |
forbid, you bid. |
Eud. By
Heaven, I'll discharge my house of ye all! |
Thar. You
shall not need, madam, for I have already |
cashiered your
officious usher here, and choosed this |
for his successor. |
Eud. O
incredible boldness! |
Thar. Madam,
I come not to command your love with |
enforced letters, nor
to woo you with tedious stories of |
my pedigree, as he who
draws the thread of his descent |
from Leda's distaff,
when 'tis well known his grandsire |
cried cony skins in
Sparta. |
Reb. Whom
mean you, sir? |
Thar. Sir, I
name none but him who first shall name |
himself. |
Reb. The
place, sir, I tell you still, and this goddess's |
fair presence, or else
my reply should take a far other |
form upon 't. |
Thar. If it
should, sir, I would make your lordship an |
answer. |
Arg. Anser's
Latin for a goose, an't please your |
honour. |
Eud. Well
noted, gander; and what of that? |
Arg.
Nothing, an't please your honour, but that he said |
he would make his
lordship an answer. |
Eud. Thus
every fool mocks my poor suitor. Tell me, |
thou most frontless of
all men, didst thou (when thou |
hadst means to note me
best) ever observe so base a |
temper in me as to
give any glance at stooping to my |
vassal? |
Thar. Your
drudge, madam, to do your drudgery. |
Eud. Or am
I now so scant of worthy suitors that may |
advance mine honour,
advance my estate, strengthen my |
alliance (if I list to
wed) that I must stoop to make my |
foot my head? |
Thar. No,
but your side, to keep you warm a-bed. But, |
madam, vouchsafe me
your patience to that point's |
serious answer. Though
I confess, to get higher place in |
your graces, I could
wish my fortunes more honourable, |
my person more
gracious, my mind more adorned with |
noble and heroical
virtues, yet, madam (that you think |
not your blood
disparaged by mixture with mine) deign |
to know this:
howsoever, I once, only for your love, |
disguised myself in
the service of your late lord and |
mine, yet my descent
is as honourable as the proudest |
of your Spartan
attempters, who, by unknown quills |
or conduits
underground, draws his pedigree from |
Lycurgus his great toe
to the Viceroy's little finger, and |
from thence to his own
elbow, where it will never leave |
itching. |
Reb. 'Tis
well, sir; presume still of the place. |
Thar.
'Sfoot, madam, am I the first great personage |
that hath stooped to
disguises for love? What think you |
of our countryman
Hercules, that for love put on |
Omphale's apron and
sate spinning amongst her |
wenches, while his
mistress wore his lion's skin, and |
lamb-skinned him if he
did not his business? |
Eud. Most
fitly thou resemblest thyself to that violent |
outlaw that claimed
all other men's possessions as his |
own by his mere
valour. For what less hast thou done? |
Come into my house,
beat away these honourable |
persons – |
Thar. That I
will, madam. − Hence, ye Sparta-velvets! |
[Beating them.] |
Psor. Hold,
she did not mean so. |
Thar. Away,
I say, or leave your lives, I protest, here. |
Hiar. Well,
sir, his Altitude shall know you. |
Reb. I'll
do your errand, sir. |
[Exeunt.] |
Thar. Do,
good cousin Altitude, and beg the reversion
|
of the next lady, for
Dido has betrothed her love to me. |
By this fair hand,
madam, a fair riddance of this |
Calydonian boar. |
Eud. O most
prodigious audaciousness! |
Thar. True,
madam! O fie upon 'em, they are |
intolerable! And I
cannot but admire your singular |
virtue of patience,
not common in your sex, and must |
therefore carry with
it some rare endowment of other |
masculine and heroical
virtues. To hear a rude Spartan |
court so ingenuous a
lady, with dull news from Athens |
or the Viceroy's
Court; how many dogs were spoiled |
at the last
bull-baiting, what ladies dubbed their |
husbands knights, and
so forth! |
Eud. But
hast thou no shame? No sense of what |
disdain I showed thee
in my last entertainment, chasing |
thee from my presence,
and charging thy duty not to |
attempt the like
intrusion for thy life; and dar'st thou |
yet approach me in
this unmannerly manner? No |
question this
desperate boldness cannot choose but go |
accompanied with other
infinite rudenesses. |
Thar. Good
madam, give not the child an unfit |
name, term it not
boldness which the sages call true |
confidence, founded on
the most infallible rock of a |
woman's constancy. |
Eud. If
shame cannot restrain thee, tell me yet if any |
brainless fool would
have tempted the danger attending |
thy approach. |
Thar. No,
madam, that proves I am no fool. Then had I |
been here a fool and a
base, low-spirited Spartan, if for |
a lady's frown, or a
lord's threats, or for a guard of |
grooms, I should have
shrunk in the wetting, and |
suffered such a
delicious flower to perish in the stalk, |
or to be savagely
plucked by a profane finger. No, |
madam, first let me be
made a subject for disgrace; let |
your remorseless guard
seize on my despised body, bind |
me hand and foot, and
hurl me into your ladyship's bed. |
Eud. O
gods! I protest thou dost more and more make |
me admire thee. |
Thar. Madam,
ignorance is the mother of admiration: |
know me better, and
you'll admire me less. |
Eud. What would'st thou have
me know? What seeks |
thy coming? Why dost
thou haunt me thus? |
Thar. Only, madam, that the Ætna of my sighs and |
Nilus of my tears,
poured forth in your presence, might |
witness to your honour
the hot and moist affection of |
my heart, and work me
some measure of favour from |
your sweet tongue, or
your sweeter lips, or what else |
your good ladyship
shall esteem more conducible to |
your divine
contentment. |
Eud. Pen
and ink-horn, I thank thee! This you learned |
when you were a
serving-man. |
Thar. Madam,
I am still the same creature; and I will
|
so tie my whole
fortunes to that style, as, were it my |
happiness (as I know
it will be) to mount into |
my lord's succession,
yet vow I never to assume other |
title, or state, than
your servant's: not approaching your |
board, but bidden; not
pressing to your bed, but your |
pleasure shall be
first known, if you will command me |
any service. |
Eud. Thy
vows are as vain as a ruffian's oaths, as |
common as the air, and
as cheap as the dust. How many |
of the light huswives,
thy muses, hath thy love promised |
this service besides,
I pray thee? |
Thar.
Compare shadows to bodies, madam, pictures to |
the life; and such are
they to you, in my valuation. |
Eud. I see
words will never free me of thy boldness,
|
and will therefore now
use blows; and those of the |
mortallest
enforcement. Let it suffice, sir, that all this |
time, and to this
place, you enjoy your safety; keep |
back; no one foot follow
me further; for I protest to |
thee, the next
threshold past, lets pass a prepared |
ambush to thy latest
breath. |
[Exit Eudora.] |
Thar. [He
draws] This for your ambush! |
Dare my love with
death? |
[Exit.] |
Clin.
'Slight! Follow, an't please your honour! |
Arg. Not I,
by this light! |
Clin. I
hope, gentlewomen, you will. |
Sthen. Not
we, sir, we are no parters of frays. |
Clin. Faith,
nor I'll be any breaker of customs. |
[Exeunt.] |
ACT
III. |
SCENE I. |
Before the House of
Lysander. |
Enter Lysander and Lycus, booted. |
Lycus. Would
any heart of adamant, for satisfaction of |
an ungrounded humour,
rack a poor lady's innocency as |
you intend to do? It
was a strange curiosity in that |
Emperor that ripped
his mother's womb to see the place |
he lay in. |
Lys. Come,
do not load me with volumes of persuasion;
|
I am resolved, if she
be gold she may abide the test; let's |
away. I wonder where
this wild brother is. |
Enter Cynthia, Hylus, and Ero. |
Cyn. Sir! |
Lys. I pray
thee, wife, show but thyself a woman, and
|
be silent; question no
more the reason of my journey, |
which our great
Viceroy's charge, urged in this letter,
|
doth enforce me to. |
Cyn. Let me
but see that letter. There is something |
In this presaging
blood of mine, tells me |
This sudden journey
can portend no good; |
Resolve me, sweet;
have not I given you cause |
Of discontent by some
misprisiön, |
Or want of fit
observance? Let me know, |
That I may wreak
myself upon myself. |
Lys. Come,
wife, our love is now grown old and staid,
|
And must not wanton it
in tricks of court, |
Nor interchanged
delights of melting lovers, |
Hanging on sleeves,
sighing, loath to depart; |
These toys are past
with us; our true love's substance |
Hath worn out all the
show; let it suffice, |
I hold thee dear; and
think some cause of weight, |
With no excuse to be
dispensed withal, |
Compels me from thy
most desired embraces. |
I stay but for my
brother; came he not in last night? |
Hyl. For certain
no, sir, which gave us cause of |
wonder what accident
kept him abroad. |
Cyn. Pray
Heaven it prove not some wild resolution,
|
bred in him by his
second repulse from the Countess. |
Lys. Trust
me, I something fear it, this insatiate spirit of |
aspiring being so
dangerous and fatal; desire, mounted |
on the wings of it,
descends not but headlong. |
Enter Tharsalio cloaked. |
Hyl. Sir,
sir, here's my uncle. |
Lys. What,
wrapp'd in careless cloak, face hid in hat |
unbanded! These are
the ditches, brother, in which |
outraging colts plunge
both themselves and their riders. |
Thar. Well,
we must get out as well as we may; if not, |
there's the making of
a grave saved. |
Cyn. That's
desperately spoken, brother; had it not |
been happier the colt
had been better broken, and his |
rider not fallen in? |
Thar. True,
sister, but we must ride colts before we
|
can break them, you
know. |
Lys. This
is your blind goddess Confidence. |
Thar. Alas,
brother, our house is decayed, and my |
honest ambition to
restore it I hope be pardonable. My |
comfort is: the poet
that pens the story will write o'er |
my head |
Magnis tamen excidit
ausis! |
Which, in our native
idiom, lets you know |
His mind was high,
though Fortune was his foe. |
Lys. A good
resolve, brother, to out-jest disgrace.
|
Come, I had been on my
journey but for some private |
speech with you; let's
in. |
Thar. Good
brother, stay a little, help out this ragged
|
colt out of the ditch.
|
[Uncloaks and reveals a splendid suit.] |
Lys. How
now? |
Thar. Now I
confess my oversight, this have I |
purchased by my
confidence. |
Lys. I like
you, brother, 'tis the true garb, you know, |
What wants in real
worth supply in show. |
Thar. In
show? Alas, 'twas even the thing itself;
|
I op'd my counting
house, and took away |
These simple fragments
of my treasury. |
“Husband,” my Countess
cried, “take more, more yet”; |
Yet I, in haste to pay
in part my debt, |
And prove myself a
husband of her store, |
Kissed and came off,
and this time took no more. |
Cyn. But
good brother – |
Thar. Then were our honoured spousal rites
performed, |
We made all short, and
sweet, and close, and sure. |
Lys. He's
rapt. |
Thar. Then
did my ushers and chief servants stoop, |
Then made my women
curtsies and envíed |
Their lady's fortune:
I was magnified. |
Lys. Let
him alone, this spirit will soon vanish. |
Thar.
Brother and sister, as I love you, and am true |
servant to Venus, all
the premises are serious and true, |
and the conclusion is:
the great Countess is mine, the |
palace is at your
service, to which I invite you all to |
solemnize my honoured
nuptials. |
Lys. Can
this be credited? |
Thar. Good
brother, do not you envy my fortunate |
achievement? |
Lys. Nay, I
ever said the attempt was commendable – |
Thar. Good! |
Lys. If the
issue were successful. |
Thar. A good
state conclusion; happy events make |
good the worst
attempts. Here are your widow-vows, |
sister; thus are ye all
in your pure naturals; certain |
moral disguises of
coyness, which the ignorant call |
modesty, ye borrow of
art to cover your busk points; |
which a blunt and
resolute encounter, taken under a |
fortunate aspect,
easily disarms you of; and then, alas, |
what are you? Poor
naked sinners, God wot! Weak |
paper walls thrust
down with a finger. This is the way |
on't, boil their
appetites to a full height of lust; and then |
take them down in the
nick. |
Cyn. Is
there probability in this, that a lady so great, so |
virtuous, standing on
so high terms of honour, should so |
soon stoop? |
Thar. You
would not wonder, sister, if you knew the
|
lure she stooped at.
Greatness? Think you that can curb |
affection? No, it
whets it more; they have the full stream |
of blood to bear them,
the sweet gale of their sublimed |
spirits to drive them,
the calm of ease to prepare them, |
the sunshine of
fortune to allure them, greatness to waft |
them safe through all
rocks of infamy. When youth, wit, |
and person come aboard
once, tell me, sister, can you |
choose no but hoise
sail, and put forward to the main? |
Lys. But
let me wonder at this frailty yet; |
Would she in so short
time wear out his memory, |
So soon wipe from her
eyes, nay, from her heart, |
Whom I myself, and
this whole isle besides, |
Still remember with
grief, the impression of his loss |
Taking worthily such
root in us; |
How think you, wife? |
Cyn. I am
ashamed on't, and abhor to think |
So great and vowed a
pattern of our sex |
Should take into her
thoughts, nay, to her bed |
(O stain to
womanhood!) a second love. |
Lycus. In so
short time! |
Cyn. In any time! |
Lys.
No, wife? |
Cyn. By
Juno, no; sooner a loathsome toad! |
Thar. High
words, believe me, and I think she'll keep |
them. − Next
turn is yours, nephew; you shall now |
marry my noblest
lady-daughter; the first marriage in |
Paphos next my
nuptials shall be yours. These are |
strange occurrents,
brother, but pretty and pathetical; |
if you see me in my
chair of honour, and my Countess |
in mine arms, you will
then believe, I hope, I am lord |
of the palace; then
shall you try my great lady's |
entertainment, see
your hands freed of me, and mine |
taking you to
advancement. |
Lys. Well,
all this rids not my business. Wife, you shall |
be there to partake
the unexpected honour of our house.
|
Lycus and I will make
it our recreation by the way to |
think of your revels
and nuptial sports. − Brother, my
|
stay hath been for
you. − Wife, pray thee be gone, and
|
soon prepare for the
solemnity; a month returns me. |
Cyn.
Heavens guide your journey! |
Lys.
Farewell! |
Thar.
Farewell, nephew; prosper in virility; but − do |
you hear? − keep
your hand from your voice; I have a |
part for you in our
hymeneal show. |
Hyl. You speak too late for
my voice; but I'll discharge |
the part. |
[Exit Cynthia, Hylus and Ero.] |
Lys.
Occurrents call ye them? Foul shame confound |
them all! That
impregnable fort of chastity and loyalty, |
that amazement of the
world − O ye deities, could |
nothing restrain her?
I took her spirit to be too haughty |
for such a depression.
|
Thar. But
who commonly more short-heeled than they |
that are high i' th'
instep? |
Lys.
Methinks yet shame should have controlled so |
sudden an
appetite. |
Thar. Tush,
shame doth extinguish lust as oil doth fire! |
The blood once het,
shame doth inflame the more, |
What they before by
art dissembled most, |
They act more freely;
shame once found is lost; |
And to say truth,
brother, what shame is due to't? Or |
what congruence doth
it carry, that a young lady, |
gallant, vigorous,
full of spirit and complexion, her |
appetite new-whetted
with nuptial delights, to be |
confined to the
speculation of a death's-head; or, for |
the loss of a husband,
the world affording flesh enough, |
make the noontide of
her years the sunset of her |
pleasures? |
Lycus. And
yet there have been such women. |
Thar. Of the
first stamp, perhaps, when the metal was |
purer than in these
degenerate days. Of later years |
much of that coin hath
been counterfeit, and besides, |
so cracked and worn
with use, that they are grown light, |
and indeed fit for
nothing but to be turned over in play. |
Lys. Not all, brother! |
Thar. My
matchless sister only excepted; for she, you |
know, is made of
another metal than that she borrowed |
of her mother. But do
you, brother, sadly intend the |
pursuit of this trial?
|
Lys.
Irrevocably. |
Thar. It's a
high project; if it be once raised, the earth
|
is too weak to bear so
weighty an accident; it cannot be |
conjured down again
without an earthquake: therefore |
believe she will be
constant. |
Lys. No, I
will not. |
Thar. Then
believe she will not be constant. |
Lys.
Neither! I will believe nothing but what trial |
enforces. Will you
hold your promise for the governing |
of this project with
skill and secrecy? |
Thar. If it
must needs be so. But heark you, brother; |
have you no other
capricions in your head to entrap my |
sister in her frailty,
but to prove the firmness of her |
widow-vows after your
supposed death? |
Lys. None
in the world. |
Thar. Then
here's my hand; I'll be as close as my |
lady's shoe to her
foot, that pinches and pleases her, and |
will bear on with the
plot till the vessel split again. |
Lys. Forge
any death, so you can force belief. |
Say I was poisoned,
drowned. |
Thar. Hanged! |
Lys.
Anything, |
So you assist it with
likely circumstance; I need not |
instruct you; that
must be your employment, Lycus. |
Lycus. Well,
sir! |
Thar. But,
brother, you must set in, too, to countenance |
truth out; a hearse
there must be too. It's strange to |
think how much the eye
prevails in such impressions; I |
have marked a widow,
that just before was seen |
pleasant enough,
follow an empty hearse and weep |
devoutly. |
Lycus. All
those things leave to me. |
Lys. But,
brother, for the bestowing of this hearse in
|
the monument of our
family, and the marshalling of a |
funeral – |
Thar. Leave
that to my care, and if I do not do the
|
mourner as lively as
your heir, and weep as lustily as |
your widow, say
there's no virtue in onions: that being |
done, I'll come to
visit the distressed widow, apply old |
ends of comfort to her
grief, but the burden of my song |
shall be to tell her
words are but dead comforts; and |
therefore counsel her
to take a living comfort, that might |
ferret out the thought
of her dead husband; and will |
come prepared with
choice of suitors, either my Spartan |
lord for grace at the
Viceroy's Court, or some great |
lawyer that may solder
up her cracked estate, and so |
forth. But what would
you say, brother, if you should |
find her married at
your arrival? |
Lys. By
this hand, split her weasand! |
Thar. Well,
forget not your wager, a stately chariot
|
with four brave horses
of the Thracian breed, with all |
appurtenances. I'll
prepare the like for you, if you prove |
victor. But, well
remembered, where will you lurk the |
whiles? |
Lys. Mewed
up close, some short day's journey hence; |
Lycus shall know the
place. Write still how all things |
pass. Brother, adieu;
all joy attend you! |
Thar. Will
you not stay our nuptial now so near?
|
Lys. I
should be like a man that hears a tale |
And heeds it not, one
absent from himself. |
My wife shall attend
the countess, and my son. |
Thar. Whom
you shall hear at your return call me |
Father. Adieu; Jove be
your speed. |
My nuptials done, your
funerals succeed. |
[Exeunt.] |
ACT III, SCENE II. |
A Room in the House of
Eudora. |
Enter Argus barehead. |
Arg. A
hall, a hall! Who's without there? |
Enter two or three with cushions. |
Come on, y'are proper
grooms, are ye not? 'Slight, I |
think y'are all
bridegrooms, ye take your pleasures so. A |
company of dormice!
Their honours are upon coming, |
and the room not ready.
Rushes and seats instantly! |
Enter Tharsalio. |
Thar. Now,
alas, fellow Argus, how thou art cumbered |
with an office! |
Arg.
Perfume, sirrah, the room's dampish. |
Thar. Nay,
you may leave that office to the ladies,
|
they'll perfume it sufficiently.
|
Arg. [perceiving
Tharsalio] Cry mercy, sir! Here's |
a whole chorus of
Sylvans at hand, cornetting and |
tripping o' th' toe,
as the ground they trod on were too |
hot for their feet.
The device is rare; and there's your |
young nephew too, he
hangs in the clouds deified with |
Hymen's shape. |
Thar. Is he
perfect in's part? Has not his tongue learned |
of the Sylvans to trip
o' th' toe? |
Arg. Sir,
believe it, he does it preciously for accent and |
action, as if he felt
the part he played; he ravishes all the
|
young wenches in the
palace; pray Venus my young |
lady Laodice have not
some little prick of Cupid in her, |
she's so diligent at's
rehearsals. |
Thar. No
force, so my next vows be heard, that
|
if Cupid have pricked
her, Hymen may cure her. |
Arg. You
mean your nephew, sir, that presents |
Hymen. |
Thar. Why,
so! I can speak nothing but thou art within |
me; fie of this wit of
thine, 'twill be thy destruction! But |